You’ve done it before, I’m certain of it, so I don’t even wanna hear about your preferred method. However, today was my first time making cakes in a pan. I’d always put them on baking sheets before, then stuffed them in the oven until they invited people put candles on them and light those candles then blow them out for the guarantee of a wish.
But today, you see, I put them on the stove, and later, when they are finished, they will be full of squared butter and maply syrup. Then I will eat them. And I will share them with you if you’re nice about it. Pancake good, no pancake bad. Think about it, but never forget. Chickens before dickens, brothers before others, but Friends before trends. Shedding a single tear, I miss you, tiramisu.
To be sure, I want your most expensive dish to eat your second most and then fight your third most expensive one. Then as the third most has the upper hand the most expensive one takes his own life in an act of honour. Then get the third most to cook the dead most expensive one, then you serve it to me on a sliver platter.
It’s funny when your pants are meatballs. No, you’re saying it wrong. Pickled cucumbers, prickly cukes. All stared at by the hopeful child with the easily-baked oven, twice-baked incinerator, and a lonely potatoed scallop.
I got the red meat blues from a deep cut on the b-side of a rare steak.
Moore’s law suggests more slaw, but the mayo has gone the way of the water chestnut. What are chestnuts? I’m kidding. I totally know. Honey bunches of totes. The cake has fooled us all again, and the banana decoy foiled its plan. Plancakes!